


home is just a room full of my safest sounds

by elainebarrish



Category: The Amazing Mrs Pritchard (2006)
Genre: F/F, this is so bad I'm so sry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7489506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elainebarrish/pseuds/elainebarrish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>basically a fix it for the end of the series, Ros stays on as PM and Catherine stays at her side through the divorce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	home is just a room full of my safest sounds

**Author's Note:**

> this is really bad I'm sorry you can tell that I just wanted 2 Get It Done. I don't actually hate like the first 1000 words but I definitely hate the last 1000

Catherine actually feels bad when she tells her to divorce her husband, that man that doesn’t deserve her, when she tells her to put him aside for the good of the party, for the country, for her career. She knows that she would make a good PM, that she could replace her easily, that a huge part of her is itching to do so, but her career is not her foremost worry at this moment. This whole time she’s been sure that she just wanted to succeed, that she’d been helping Ros and making nice with the socialists because this is the best career-orientated choice. There’s very few people that could force her onto a bus, she has to admit, but that was not even close to the first warning sign, and she’s condemned to also admit that the first warning sign should have been defecting, should have been putting her career on the line for someone that she was there to ruin. The whole point was that she would have asked about her economic policies and Ros would have crumbled. But here she was, making her economic policies for her, making sure that no one can do the same thing she had planned to do.

Ros tears up her family life and it’s somewhat for Catherine, or at least Catherine likes to think so. There are so many pictures of the two of them together, supporting each other, even from before she started the process of divorcing Ian. Catherine’s loyalty never comes into question, not from Ros, and they continue making history, trying to work on getting re-elected, trying to continue to keep to Ros’s promise of clean, honest politics even as everything attempts to crumble down around them. Catherine has been there every step of the way, whether that’s in the form of supporting her through two hour long meetings with foreign diplomats or her appearing at 3am when Ros can’t sleep, when Ros dances around what’s bothering her for two hours and then finally tells her, when they’re both exhausted and have to be up soon. They’re both always exhausted, and Catherine’s far too tall and far too old to be sleeping on the sofa with the regularity she is. Georgina’s got used to it, she never looks surprised when Catherine’s feet are dangling over the arm and her mum’s handing her a cup of coffee with a warm, affectionate smile on her face, she just continues with eating her cereal before school, but Emily gives her these knowing smiles that she pretends not to understand. She wonders if Emily will give her the “if you hurt her I’ll kill you” speech, shakes her head and returns to her work when she realises that that’s not something she could ever do, regardless of whether anyone tells her not to.

The divorce gets finalised and Ros’s name gets dragged through the mud. There’s an article where someone actually manages to blame Catherine, something about her being a miserable spinister that has to make everyone around her unhappy. She hardly thinks that being forty-six and unmarried makes her a spinster, but there’s some people that just can’t be argued with. Ros is the one that mentions the article, they laugh about it, and Catherine’s glad that it doesn’t hang in the air (and then scolds herself for her relief; it’s not like it had alluded to them being in a relationship, or anything of that sort, but she feels guilty and weird like it did).

Catherine never comes over unless asked, never pushes herself onto Ros when she thinks that she doesn’t strictly need her, not wanting to disturb the little sleep she does get, never having been someone that turns to external sources of help. Sometimes she’s tempted, she really is, but then she remembers that Ros is like this with everyone, earnest and smart and caring, sharp when they need her to be, cleverer than anyone expects her to be, she remembers that this woman that she trusts is actually the prime minister, and doesn’t have time. Doesn’t even have time for her own kids, let alone the Chancellor of the Exchequer who’s never been lonely but is starting to feel like she could actually enjoy someone else’s company on the long nights when she can’t sleep. That feeling is deeply foreign and largely unsettling; there are very few people that she can name who have ever given her the warm feeling that Ros does, and with most of them her fondness had waned after just a few months, but with Ros it lingers, and it’s not unwanted. It’s new and confusing and she doesn’t understand why it’s happening now of all times, but there’s a large part of her that’s glad it is. 

Catherine answers the door at three am with her hair in her eyes and her tshirt askew, and Ros smiles in a way that is endearing and awkward as she tries not to watch too closely as Catherine runs a hand through her hair in a gesture that is familiar but notably distracting.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” she whispers like someone else might hear, even though both houses are large enough that they’re not going to wake the girls up.

“I wasn’t really asleep,” she placates, thinking of how she’d spent the last two hours tossing and turning, and she steps into the hallway between their two houses, following Ros as she leads the way to her living room.

Ros makes the tea, as always, while Catherine flops down onto the sofa, her tall frame seeming to collapse into itself, folding in half as she draws her legs up and moves one of the carelessly thrown pillows to get comfortable. This is familiar, this is what happens; Ros will bring the tea over and make her move her legs up, will sit down in that careful way that means they’re decidedly not touching, that means there’s suitable distance between them, until one of them shifts and they eventually end with Catherine’s limbs everywhere, crammed onto the sofa in a space that’s really too small for one person that tall, their legs fighting for space (and Catherine usually winning because she has so much extra length).

By the time Catherine sits up to drink her tea it’s mostly cold and her legs are mostly on Ros’s lap, and Ros is laughing at one of her slightly cruel but not untrue remarks about the Conservative party’s leadership. Her hand is wrapped around one of her ankles, resting there lightly in a way that is familiar, and she thinks of the amount of times they've done this, the two of them smiling at each other across the expanse of the sofa, which seems like a big space when all Ros wants to do is press forward, when all she wants is Catherine’s lanky frame surrounding her. She just tells herself that she's recently divorced, that Catherine's been through a lot recently, that the two of them aren't in a place to embark upon something that could potentially put their party in turmoil. The country is barely adjusting to having a divorced female prime minister, and she's not sure they'd react well to a female prime minister that has a girlfriend, and that that girlfriend is the chancellor of the exchequer. This kind of thinking is Catherine's fault, the letting her political ambitions influence her decisions, letting it stop her from doing things. Although she supposes that without her current position she wouldn't have even met Catherine, wouldn't have found herself in this mess. This mess that includes Catherine falling asleep on her, hair falling into her eyes and frown still mostly in place. She knows that she doesn't sleep any better or any more than Ros does, that both of them are struggling with the responsibilities they ended up asking to have placed on them.

She looks at her for a long moment, quiet as only 4am can be, her breathing echoing harshly in her ears, loud against the silence. Eventually she pokes her in the side, wriggles out from underneath her legs which were simultaneously in her lap and over the arm of the sofa, and Catherine just fidgets and ignores her.

“Come on, you're not staying on the sofa.” Ros says firmly, trying not to back out, trying not to over think it. Both of them slept better when they fell asleep together, and they'd sleep much better if they fell asleep in an actual bed, plus her legs dangling off never looked particularly comfortable. Catherine staggers up, squinting, and follows her quietly, slipping into bed silently, and by the time Ros comes back from the bathroom her limbs have taken as much space hostage as they possibly could. She just smiles and shoves an arm over, laying down and trying not to panic when Catherine rolls towards her, one of her arms unfurling as though she was going to pull her close but she thought better of it at the last moment.

They're woken up by several people bustling in, as was expected in the mornings, and then those people quickly apologising and bustling out. Catherine looks at the clock and groans: 6am. 

“Couldn't you have locked the door?” Her voice is lower than usual, rough with sleep, one side of her face pressed into the pillow, one eye half closed against the light (Meg had opened the curtains before she'd noticed that Catherine was here).

“I'm pretty sure she has a key.” Catherine just sighed in response and pulled a pillow over her head, ignoring Ros as she got up and started getting ready for another 18 hour work day.

“Catherine, it’s half past, I’m sure you have a meeting very early this morning too.” She pulls the pillow away from her face and hands her a cup of coffee, laughing as she blinks blearily and struggles to sit up without spilling it.

“Half past six? Why on earth are you already dressed?”

“Because I have a phone call with the Bulgarian prime minister at seven. Surely you also have something at seven?” Ros is trying hard to not to laugh; she’s used to Catherine in the mornings, but her squinting into the light and floundering about slightly like she forgot the length of her limbs overnight is still one of her favourite things.

“I always make sure I have nothing I have to attend before nine,” she smiles and Ros just laughs, shaking her head.

“That can’t work,” she’s smiling as she says it, disbelief evident but also like she knows that if anyone could get away with it it would be Catherine.

“It does, my secretary’s terrifying at the best of times, she’s a god send.”

“I’m glad I don’t have to make appointments with you,” she laughed.

“No, you’re the one person that I actually have to listen to, apparently. Although I’ve had several complaints when I’ve had to rearrange meetings to see you when requested, but my secretary knows how to handle those. Which is to say, she ignores them.”

“I’m the prime minister! They should be flattered if you miss something because of me,” she laughs and lays back down, as carefully as possible, attempting not to crease her clothes or ruffle her hair. Catherine finishes her coffee and puts the mug to the side, then pulls the duvet back up and disappears beneath it, ignoring that Ros is laying on half of it.

“Usually they’re just surprised that the Chancellor and PM actually communicate on a regular basis.” Her voice is muffled by the duvet and Ros pulls it down, laughing at the way that Catherine’s hair ends up everywhere and slightly static.

“I don’t know why they’re so surprised, it makes sense to know what everyone’s doing.” 

Catherine shakes her head, smiling, still endeared by that naievity, that inability to face the facts when it came to the constant and uncountable failures by past governments, that faith that she still possessed, even after everything that had happened in the last two years. “And yet that is one of the big things that previous governments failed to do.” Her voice is full of that cynicism and slight defeatism that Ros is working on beating out of her, and Ros just smiles.

“It’s a good thing none of them are currently in power then, isn’t it?” Catherine has to smile back, even as she thinks of their own failings, even as she thinks a thousand things, even as Ros thinks about how she wants to smooth the hair out of her face and kiss her.

“I admire your positivity,” is all she says, and Ros just rolls her eyes and turns to face her, ignoring the inevitable wrinkles in her jacket.

“Maybe if you admired it you could work on attempting to emulate it,” Ros chides, and Catherine laughs.

“I rather think it’s your job to keep thinking that everything’s going to work out. I’ll just continue getting more negative everytime I think about our economy.” She’s smiling as she says it, and Ros knows that she doesn’t mean it.

“You find me endearing, admit it,” she teases, and Catherine tries not to panic about how correct she is, about how she doesn’t know how endearing she does find it.

“Fine,” she sighs, smiling. “I find your naivety incredibly endearing.”

“There, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Catherine looks at her in a way that clearly communicates that it was very hard. “Your face whenever I promise the public something out of the blue is very endearing too.”

“Yes, admit it, you love it when I make you face the reality of the situations you put us in.” Her voice is dry, but they’re both still smiling, and Catherine hopes that Ros doesn’t check the time and realise that she should probably be being briefed on her phone call with the Bulgarian prime minister, because she’d much rather that they waste the next hour trading barbs and smiling at each other.

“You’re right, I do,” Ros grins. “I just love it when you tell everyone off for giving me hope that I might not have completely put my foot in it.”

“How was I supposed to know that Green Wednesdays were going to be a success?” she complains, and Ros laughs.

“I suppose I do keep holding that over you, but really, we could have presented a united front to the party.”

“The whole point is that I tell you when you’ve made a mess, and I thought you had, and I was not expecting to be wrong about that.”

“You’re not wrong often, are you? Is it going to take some time for you to recover?”

“You’ve been learning sarcasm off of me, look at the wit you’re displaying,” Catherine laughs and Ros slaps her very lightly on the arm in return.

“This is the prime minister you’re talking to, remember?”

“Oh I’m terribly sorry, however could I make it up to you?” The space between them has shrunk somehow, both of them leaning forward, Ros’s jacket and skirt definitely creased, Catherine’s hand coming up to run through her hair, finally tucking the strands out of the way.

“How about dinner?” Ros suggests, and tries to act like she’s not holding her breath as Catherine looks surprised and then smirks, trying to pretend as though she’d been expecting her to say that (neither of them are anywhere near as smooth as they would like to think they are, which is something they’ll laugh at on a later date).

“Hmm I suppose I could do that,” she smiles and tries not to grin, especially when Ros smiles at her, like she hadn’t been sure what she would say, and she wants to kiss her all over again. She does, raising onto her elbow, hand sliding along her jaw, and Ros leans forward, collapses into it, still smiling against her lips.


End file.
